


Area 51

by nightmareonpaper



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Diners, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Roswell, F/M, Gun Violence, Roswell AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-12 05:31:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16867021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmareonpaper/pseuds/nightmareonpaper
Summary: She unwraps the material of her dress from her body, finger catching on a large round hole right in the center.Her heart races, her breathing quickens.It can’t be…She lifts a hand to examine her stomach, running her shaking fingers across the smooth skin. She isn’t sure whether she’s afraid to find evidence of what happened or afraid she won’t.It isn’t until she looks in the mirror once more that she knows what she’s looking for. Right there, covering the inch of skin where she can still feel the phantom pains—A glowing silver hand print.





	1. Not Likely

“I’m telling you, that guy is 100% crushing on you.”

Clarke rolls her eyes as she tops off the sugar jar with an expert flourish. Emori is sweet, but new to TonDC and therefore unaware of Bellamy Blake’s reputation. Because—

“Bellamy Blake does not have crushes, least of all on someone like me.”

“I hate to agree with Clarke, but… she’s not wrong,” Raven pipes up from her perch in the back-most booth. It’s been her preferred homework spot ever since Clarke was old enough to work in her father’s kitschy little Dropship Cafe. He used to swear the seat must have a permanent indent of Raven’s ass. “Clarke’s not Bellamy’s type.”

“What? Badass babe not do it for him?”

Clarke bites back a grin and hip-checks Emori in thanks, but Raven refuses to let it go.

“The wholesome girl next door typically isn’t interested in casual hook-ups, which is all Bellamy’s good for.”

“You would know,” Clarke teases.

“Fine then,” Emori gives up on refilling the napkin dispensers, a torn clump of paper in her hands. “Give me another reason the guy can’t take his eyes off her.”

Clarke can’t help but glance at him across the diner. Sure enough, she catches his eye, and immediately averts her gaze as a flush blooms on her cheeks.

“Huh,” Raven huffs. “Maybe he’s up for a challenge.”

“Shut up.”

Clarke is saved by Table 3’s request for a dessert menu, but she feels as if Bellamy’s eyes follow her as she goes about her work. She's probably imagining things. Raven catches on to Clarke’s unease, smirking as she drops a stack of menus on the floor.

All that is to say, Clarke’s distracted when the scuffle begins, only turning around when she hears Emori’s voice rise above the noise, screaming, “Sir! You can’t have a gun—”

And then Clarke blacks out.

 

When Clarke opens her eyes again, the world is a little blurrier than she’s used to. She also seems to be looking at it from a strange angle. She knows she’s in the diner, at least, which calms her somewhat. It is all but home to her. Hell, she and her mother live just upstairs.

No, she’s safe here. But something is wrong. She can’t quite put her finger on it.

“Help!” she hears Raven scream, and Clarke distantly thinks she should help her distraught friend, but she can’t bring herself to get up.

A figure comes into focus above her, brown eyes looking straight into her own. She feels a tug as her uniform is torn open and the jolt brings her attention to the mess of curls atop the figure’s head.

“Bell’my?”

“Fuck, Clarke.”

She can’t help but be disappointed in Bellamy’s grave reaction to seeing her shirtless, even though she knows now isn’t the time. But then his large, warm hand presses against her bare abdomen and she’s in—

_Oh. That explains it._

All at once, the pain floods her senses. Something in her core burns from the inside out.

“Shit,” Bellamy panics as Clarke tries to tell him what's wrong and no words come out. “I—”

She watches as he takes a deep breath, then presses harder on her gut. She screams at him to stop. He’s killing her. Shit, she’s dying.

But then—

The pleasing warmth of his hand soaks through her skin, into the muscles of her abdomen, drowning out the burning sensation bit by bit. Her vision returns in between blinks and she can make out the fear in Bellamy’s eyes.

His hand finally pulls away, leaving her cold.

She stares as Bellamy grabs a bottle of ketchup, jumping when he smashes it open against the counter and pours it down her front.

“You dropped the bottle when the gun went off and went into shock,” he stutters. “You’ll be fine.”

“Bellamy?” she worries.

“Bell, we have to go!” A hand pulls at his shoulder, tearing him away with one last desperate look.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he whispers his plea and then disappears.

Clarke pulls her uniform tight around her perfectly smooth torso and sits up, watching him go.

 

It’s an hour before Sheriff Jaha lets her go upstairs to clean up. Some tourists had kept him busy, spouting their typical alien conspiracy theories as if they were somehow being helpful. It was one of the perks of living in an infamous town like TonDC.

Finally alone, Clarke examines herself in in the mirror. She’s a mess—hair askew, skin pale and clammy, her shiny green uniform drenched in red (even she couldn’t tell what was her own blood and what was ketchup).

She unwraps the material of her dress from her body, finger catching on a large round hole right in the center.

Her heart races, her breathing quickens.

It can’t be…

She lifts a hand to check her stomach, running her shaking fingers across the smooth skin. She isn’t sure whether she’s afraid to find evidence of what happened or afraid she won’t.

It isn’t until she looks in the mirror once more that she knows what she’s looking for. Right there, covering the inch of skin where she can still feel the phantom pains—

A glowing silver hand print.


	2. Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, we’ve spent the last week talking about genus and phylum. Now we’re going to get a little more specific and talk about the difference between species.” The door opens and sneakers squeak on the floor, but Clarke’s attention is miles away until— “Mr. Blake, so nice to have you join us.”
> 
> Bellamy takes his seat at their lab table, nervously chewing on a pen as Clarke blatantly stares at him. Only when he sneaks a glance at her does she realize what she’s doing.

Clarke is fairly sure that Bellamy Blake is avoiding her. She’s caught glimpses of him in the hallway, but he disappears within seconds. Fortunately, he’s her lab partner in Biology, although it’s not like she can confront him in front of the entire class.

But of course, he doesn’t even show up.

“Okay, we’ve spent the last week talking about genus and phylum. Now we’re going to get a little more specific and talk about the difference between species.” The door opens and sneakers squeak on the floor, but Clarke’s attention is miles away until— “Mr. Blake, so nice to have you join us.”

Bellamy takes his seat at their lab table, nervously chewing on a pen as Clarke blatantly stares at him. Only when he sneaks a glance at her does she realize what she’s doing.

“Okay, everyone on the right prepare a slide with the vegetable sampling. Everyone on the left, take a toothpick and get a sample from your cheek.” Clarke can practically feel the tension rolling off Bellamy in that moment as he all but trips off his stool. “Mr. Blake?”

Bellamy’s words rush out of his mouth, “Can I get a bathroom pass?”

With a wry stare, the teacher hands him the pass. “High maintenance today, aren’t we?”

Bellamy rushes out of the classroom, leaving Clarke in his wake.

His behavior only leaves Clarke more suspicious, so she’s not sure what the guy is trying to accomplish. Unless…

As she scrapes her own cheek and prepares the slide, she eyes the chewed up pen Bellamy left on top of his books.

It’s silly, right? As if there would be any explanation to what happened in his cellular make-up. It wasn’t as if Bellamy was not human. What else would he be?

But, then, what was the harm in checking?

She slides the pen towards her, nonchalant in every possible way as she swabs the cap and prepares the slide and looks into the microscope to see—

Decidedly _non-human_ cells.

Which doesn’t mean anything. Maybe it was his dog’s saliva? If Bellamy even had a dog. Or cat. Or maybe it wasn’t living at all, maybe it was his drink or his lunch.

But… definitely _not_ Bellamy’s cells, right?

Right?

 

She’s ready when the bell rings, right on his tail as he whooshes out of the classroom and into the crowded hall. It’s not even ten seconds before she’s able to grab his arm and pull him into a dark classroom.

“We need to talk.” Her stern tone seems to do the trick and Bellamy doesn’t argue as they enter the empty music room.

Mostly empty.

“Wells!”

Clarke tenses up at the mere thought of explaining herself—alone in a classroom with _Bellamy Blake_ of all people—to her childhood best friend and maybe, kind of boyfriend.

“Clarke, did you get my message?” Wells inquires innocently as he makes his way down from the stands, trumpet case in hand.

“Umm, yeah. I was just, uhh—”

“Shaken up? My dad told me about the shooting.” Of course he had. Sheriff Jaha had spent the better part of last night staring down Clarke suspiciously. “Bellamy, hey.” It sounded nice enough, but Clarke could hear the question in his inflection.

“We were just… looking for a place to study. For our Bio midterm.” It was next week, but that was close enough.

Wells just offers a good-natured nod to Bellamy. “She’s a good teacher, you’re in good hands.” Attention turning back to Clarke, he continues, “Oh, I got my costume for the Crash on Friday—”

But Clarke can’t put this off any longer. “Wells! We need to study…”

She sees his face fall, but she can’t do anything about it right now, so she keeps a smile on her face as Wells backs out of the room. “Alright, have fun,” he dismisses wryly as he slips out the door.

Finally alone, Clarke takes a moment to refocus. She can feel Bellamy’s gaze on her from across the room.

“So, you’re going out with Jaha?”

Seriously? “Kind of? It’s sort of just this casual—” And that was so not the point Clarke was hoping to discuss. “Bellamy! Can we just focus for a minute?”

Bellamy, to his credit, looks caught. He simply nods for her to continue.

There are many ways Clarke could start this conversation, but words seem to fail her at the moment. So she merely lifts the hem of her shirt to reveal the foreign handprint on her stomach.

Bellamy’s breath catches in his throat. “Oh.”

Clarke lets her shirt fall once more as she debates her next words. “I took a sample of your cells off your pen.” Bellamy freezes. “And what I found was… abnormal.” To put it lightly. “So I propose we just go back and do it again. So we can prove that I was wrong. That I got the wrong cells.”

She sees Bellamy eyeing the exit. Maybe he’ll do it and this will all get sorted out.

“You didn’t.”

What? “What?”

“You didn’t get the wrong cells,” he speaks softly, as if worried he’ll frighten her. The look in his eyes is so soft, brown eyes caressing her own.

“I don’t understand. How is that possible?” Her heart pounds in her chest. Even swallowing proves difficult.

“I’m… not from around here.”

And Clarke knew that, okay? The Blake siblings had only shown up in third grade. She remembered because they’d been immediately branded freaks when they refused to share anything about themselves and started lashing out. Clarke’s mom had told her they’d been through something traumatic, so nine year old Clarke had just left them alone.

“Alright, so where are you from?”

Bellamy merely points up.

“Up north?”

He hesitates, biting his lips together into a thin white line, but he raises his finger higher. Clarke’s eyes follow.

“You’re not— I mean, there’s no way. You’re not an—” She feels stuck in a loop, circling the obvious and the impossible. “An alien?”

He looks back at her, waiting.

“Bellamy,” she chides. “That’s very funny, but seriously…”

He would do something like that. At least, his reputation says he would. Bad boy. Rebel. He doesn’t take anything or anyone seriously.

But why would a guy like that magically heal her gunshot wound?

“Okay,” she drawls. “I have to get to History.” She grabs her books and hightails it for the door, feeling no more settled than when she entered. In fact, maybe _less_.

But Bellamy beats her to the door, placing himself in her path and standing all too close. “Clarke, you can’t tell anyone. You have no idea what they will do. Promise me.”

Clarke stares.

“Please. My life is in your hands now.”

It wasn’t as if she was ready to go running, ranting about how aliens are real and Bellamy Blake was one, but his plea clinches it.

He saved her life.

Now she has to save his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my favorite, but we're moving forward. Appreciate any feedback.

**Author's Note:**

> TonDC is basically just Roswell, with Area 51 and everything. Except not in New Mexico. 
> 
> You get it, right?
> 
> This is literally a Roswell AU, I'm assuming you get it.


End file.
